


No Children

by racheltuckerrr



Series: that was in another world [3]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad vibes, F/M, In Which The Kingdom Falls For A Song (literally), One Shot, Pre-Apocalypse, also probably the vaguest shit you've ever read but i needed to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 13:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheltuckerrr/pseuds/racheltuckerrr
Summary: A light flickers somewhere above the stage, once.Not in the way that lights do right before they come alive for real, like its a warmup before the real thing. Not like that. It flickers like it could go out forever any minute. Which is true.





	No Children

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by my current mood (which is also why i haven't been writing lately, sorry) and [this post](https://racheltuckerrr.tumblr.com/post/188019555485/no-children-by-the-mountain-goats-sounds-like-a?fbclid=IwAR1hME1tMZtjW8LQZzl6WLB-2dR8MLNo5hLqP7TqsxMvGEz1GcusI8ofI7k) and [this article](https://www.npr.org/2018/10/10/653349496/the-mountain-goats-american-anthem-no-children-dysfunction?t=1569754413778)
> 
> the title is the name of the song that hades is singing

A light flickers somewhere above the stage, once. 

Not in the way that lights do right before they come alive for real, like its a warmup before the real thing. Not like that. It flickers like it could go out forever any minute. Which is true.

The man on the stage clears his throat, though what for is unclear. There is barely anyone in the audience, and they certainly don't have anything else going on. The barn they’re in is made entirely of wood and holds fifty people at most, and even that would be an ambitious number for the dozen or so survivors inside. 

Still, he holds his head high and squares his shoulders like a soldier readying for battle. His hair is grey, what was once a suit on him is covered in soot and ash and torn to hell now, and the remaining piece of his tie hangs uselessly from his neck like a ritual sacrifice to the gods. And yet, he has a clear and commanding presence, probably a leftover skill from another life. He had a name once too, maybe even an important one. He could’ve been a king, a husband, a father. Maybe all of those things.

He is none of them now, only a spectator in the downfall of the last remnants of this world, even as he pretends that there is still a way to make any of this bearable. Why else would he be up there on that stage with a guitar in his hand? Well, it _ was _ a guitar once, at least. Must have been. Now it’s gonna be a wonder if it even does the job. 

Tired, wrinkled fingers settle over the guitar strings and his melody shatters the silence without permission. A girl in the audience leans forward slightly, her dust-covered fingers sweep a few tears from her cheeks. She is expecting comfort, all of them are.

He didn’t come here to give them that.

“I hope that our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us,” he starts singing, “I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us.”

Some people start murmuring once the words really register like he knew they would. He doesn’t want to please anyone, not anymore. But the stage was empty, and he is owed this last chance at least. And to hell with what people think.

“I hope the fences we mended fall down beneath their own weight, and I hope we hang on past the last exit, I hope it’s already too late.”

It is too late, no doubt about it. For what, barely seems to matter. He sings with such abandon that he doesn’t even notice how the mood in the room has suddenly shifted. Maybe he doesn’t want to notice. He has his own ideas about what they think of him, he simply just doesn’t care.

“And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down and I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away and I never come back to this town again.”

There is a gradually building thumping sound that echoes out to the stage from the audience, and the man almost stops his song cold when he finally hears it. His hand stills over his guitar.

_ Thud, thud, thud_, the sound of boots on the wooden floor of the barn. They are edging him along, he seems to realize. Which is clearly not what he expected. No one feels like clapping anymore - and why should they? - but they’re listening. They want more, as long as there is more. 

Not for long, but this, right now, this he can do. He starts up again, faster than before, angrier too. Like he’s realized this is his last song. Like he wants to make it count.

“In my life,” he shouts, “I hope I lie!” The audience breathes as one when he strums too hard and a string breaks, but he barely seems to notice. At the same time, a woman appears at his shoulder, just as he sings, “and tell everyone you were a good wife and I hope you die!"

She smiles, though there is nothing kind about it. She knows his song well enough, and she has no trouble joining in. “I hope we both die,” they say together before he turns toward her fully, his face incredulous but only for a moment before it hardens. 

There is a moment of silence as they stare each other down. The matador facing the bull, the bull facing the matador. Someone whistles, a long and harsh sound, and the message is clear.

The guitar starts up yet again, and somewhere in the room, there must be a piano as well because someone starts to play it. It shouldn’t go well with the melody, erratic as it is on its own, but it does. The tension doesn’t disappear though, only grows with the music and everyone in that barn feeds on it like it’s their last meal. And in a way, it is.

This isn’t what they wanted, but now they can’t seem to get enough. If they have to go out with a bang either way, it might as well be a party. 

“I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow, I hope it bleeds all day long,” he sings to her, and her only. A last accusation, perhaps, and yet he makes it sound like a serenade with his eyes alone. Her face betrays nothing of how she feels, but she does listen. “Our friends say it’s darkest before the sun rises, we’re pretty sure they’re all wrong.”

She nods, and her eyes turn downwards. 

It’s only for a moment, but a piece of the ceiling falls right where she just stood in the next, and his grip strong on her arm where he grabbed her. Her eyes are wide and her breath comes in little puffs as she collects herself, her gaze landing on his hand, still touching her arm. He lets go soon enough, like it’s forbidden even to save her.

They’re standing so close to each other that his next breath blows her curly brown hair over her shoulder. She pulls it to the front again but doesn’t move away as she takes over.

“I hope it stays dark forever, I hope the worst isn’t over,” she sings into his microphone, though he never offered to share it. Her gaze lands on the large chunk of wood that nearly crushed her just a minute ago, then back at him with an unreadable emotion in her eyes. “And I hope you blink before I do, and I hope I never get sober.”

There is so much history there between them, almost palpable in that barn at the end of the world, messy and twisted and painful and so, so bittersweet. 

Whatever else it may be, it's certainly more than any chance they have left for a future, and they both know it. The smell of desperation that clings to their figures is echoed in the words that spring forth from them both. The audience is wild with it, though the two hardly seem to notice. 

They are in a world of their own creation, even as the one they’re standing in is running out by the second.

“And I hope when you think of me years down the line, you can’t find one good thing to say,” he sings and she shakes her head, though the meaning is unclear. Then they switch roles as she sings the next line and he is the one shaking his head at her, like it’s their own special dance. “And I’d hope that if I found the strength to walk out, you’d stay the hell out of my way.”

The audience is on their feet, roaring, drowning out any other sounds but they’re the only two people on the stage so it’s hard to miss when the ceiling rumbles again. 

And then again. 

“I am drowning, there is no sign of land.” The man throws down his guitar to make room in his arms. It’s not much, and it certainly won’t protect them from anything, but she accepts it. “You are coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand."

“And I hope you die,” they sing and clasp their hands together, if only to stop them both shaking, “I hope we both die.”

The light flickers one last time. No one notices when the singing stops, but when it does, it stops forever.

**Author's Note:**

> also if you're wondering, this is not in any way connected to my other apocalypse au, i just.....really like em


End file.
